Ichigo
by TheKatInTheShade
Summary: I'd never neglect dishwasher duties. I love it. Doesn't my enthusiasm shine through enough?   Self harm, don't read if it upsets you.


**I promised myself no more FF for a while because I have a shitloada work to do but... I was listening to Hurricane by 30 Seconds to Mars and kind of felt depressed enough to write this. Enjoy!**

**This is M for a **_**graphic**__**depiction of self harm**_**. If you are squeamish, ****go back****. I don't want to upset anyone.**

_Ichigo_

I cut myself once.

I did it because I felt embarrassed and angry; I couldn't stop crying.

Mum.

I missed her.

I was such a tender age, a sort of limbo between a child and an adult. Everything frustrated me. It all piled up. I don't really know how it happened. I didn't feel like I had a single person on earth on my side. Everyone wanted to criticise, judge, take a hit at the weird kid.

It just struck me all of a sudden how difficult it was to ask for help. I tried, but I already felt so helpless and outnumbered I struggled to see the point in anything.

One day my dad and sisters went shopping. I argued with my dad just before he left about the _dishwasher,_ of all things.

The way he spoke to me was as if I never did anything. As if I was some sort of retarded slob there to make his life more difficult.

He rattled off on a short but uninspiring speech about how I need to do something more constructive with my weekends other than playing video games and I apparently need to tidy up my bedroom because it 'looks like we've been burgled' and then something about the dishwasher...

"Sorry, dad, you're absolutely right! The fact that I have been at school all week is insignificant and I forgot that playing video games quietly in my room is so much worse than going out on a bender and smoking marijuana. And sure, I'll tidy my bedroom up right now because you spend so much time in my room anyway and its cleanliness affects your life on a monumental scale. And I'd never neglect dishwasher duties! I love it! Doesn't my enthusiasm shine through enough? I'll hop to it as soon as you get out of my room and fuck off."

...is what I would love to say; but I grunt and sigh exasperatedly and he leaves the room looking annoyed.

Half an hour later I'm in the kitchen making some toast. Reaching for a knife absent mindedly, I accidentally open the 'knickknack' draw, full of crap which has slowly been accumulated since mum and dad bought the house. I don't even realise I'm staring at the mess inside until I catch sight of something glittery and metallic; it looks out of place among the spare plugs and old take-out menus.

I'm staring at a little sterling-silver flower, with tiny delicate petals and the centre is somehow yellow. The whole thing catches the light and I recognise before I even pick it up.

Mum had this charm bracelet that dad bought her after Karin and Yuzu were born. I went with dad when he got it and I know this little flower so well because I chose it for her, to go on her bracelet.

My eyes feel glossy and I avert my eyes to the ceiling, willing myself not to cry. But as I remember her smile when she cooed over each charm, I feel my cheeks streak with wetness.

The next few seconds are a surreal blur as I actually sink to my knees, suddenly overcome with sobs.

Me. Crying like a baby. Even now the memory makes me frown in disgust.

But I couldn't stop. I cried and cried and when no one heard me, when I remembered I was alone, I just cried louder. I pressed my head against the cold floor and gripped my hair, trying to gain some self-control, but it was useless.

I cried until suddenly, I couldn't anymore. That's enough tears for now.

I got up and left the charm on the floor. It felt uncomfortably hot against my skin.

I quickly felt ashamed and sober.

I'm a big brother, a protector – I can't afford to fall apart.

I filled the kitchen sink with cold water and cooled my face in it, my eyes feeling swollen and sore and my throat dry from bawling so loudly.

When I pulled my head out from the water, I groped around blindly for a towel, accidentally knocking something onto the floor. I turned and saw it was one of my dad's first aid kits lying open, its contents strewn across the vinyl.

Again, something metal caught my eye.

A pair of scissors.

As if I was being dictated to, I picked them up off the floor and opened them, as if to cut something. They were sharp and shiny and I could see my reflection in them, but it was deformed and misshapen like a reflection on the back of a spoon.

I'm not sure why I suddenly pressed the metal to my arm, but I did.

I dragged the blade horizontally up my forearm lightly, as if I was shaving. It was sort of soothing, sort of dangerous. I did it again, hypnotised by the way the artificial light of the kitchen made the metal shine and dance.

I looked at my arm. It felt a bit raw but just looked grazed. I tried pulling it across my skin vertically this time, but still only applying the tiniest bit of pressure. There was a thin white line, but it disappeared less than a second later. I did it again, this time pressing harder, perhaps a little too hard. I was almost angry and the white line for disappearing so quickly.

This time the line was red and it stung. Blood began to seep out of the cut in slow, fat drops. I hung my arm over the sink and let the crimson trail down my arm and hand and fingers.

Suddenly, as if waking up from a trance, I plunged my hand into the water in the sink and washed the blood away. I didn't slice my arm wide open, it was just a thin, deep cut.

It hurt, but I ignored it and wrapped a small scrap of bandage around the reddest area. I pulled on a long sleeved jumper from a pile of clean laundry on the stairs. It was winter, anyway.

I made my way back into the kitchen feeling weirdly calm, my earlier hysteria completely gone.

I grip the table top and lean against it heavily, staring at my white knuckles.

Suddenly I seem so much more breakable; so much more fragile and softer than ever before.

I feel exhausted.

Life really _is_ hard.

But... there's school on Monday.

And there's going to be school on Monday whether I like it or not.

No amount of crying or cutting is ever going to change that.

I laugh and shake my head.

I know what my mum would say if she could see me right now.

Chin up, Ichigo.

**Ok... I don't even know if it **_**was**_** that graphic because I haven't written anything like this before so how do I fair? Care to review? :)**


End file.
